Anything But Ordinary
by Charlie Winchester
Summary: Chapter 3! "Wilson, you devil." House's lips curved into a sly grin. "You just want to get my clothes off." HouseWilson.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: This isn't going to be one continuous story so much as a different little plot bunny for each chapter. Often I have a quick fic idea in mind after every episode, but it's not enough to turn into a full-length story. So I'll just post them as they come to me rather than as separate fics. Most of them will probably be short and drabble-ish, and varying in genre. Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to tell me what you think! xo Charlie**_

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**i. unspoken **

_Post— Son of a Coma Guy (or as House insists, Vegetative State Guy)._

_I could not let this go. Betcha Wilson couldn't either._

**xx **

House was impressed. The day was almost over, they had conquered four and a half hours of The L-Word, and _the question _still hadn't been addressed. Could Wilson have seriously forgotten? He snuck a glance at his best friend sitting beside him on the couch. Wilson sat quietly, munching occasionally on the bowl of popcorn he had in his lap. On the other hand, it was making House downright _fidgety_ how he was sitting there all… _fine_, and content and all that shit. House wanted to scowl. What the hell was Wilson trying to pull, anyway?

The oncologist suddenly grinned, not moving his head. "Got ants in your pants, House? Or something to say?"

House had the distinct feeling he was being laughed at, and he didn't like it one bit. Slightly uneasy at being caught staring, he snapped back, "No, you?"

Wilson laughed outright. Pressed the pause button on the remote. "How long have you been stewing about this?" He turned on the couch, bringing up one knee to comfortably face the diagnostician.

"I'm not stewing."

"Yes you are, and because I'm so amused and because you so obviously want me to know, I'll bite." Playful coffee-coloured eyes danced in the dim light of the apartment. "House," Wilson pitched his tone to match that of a concerned therapist, "Have you been in love since Stacy?"

House envisioned shooting himself right then. It seemed like a wonderfully fantastic idea, since Wilson had somehow become ridiculously intuitive— or maybe House was just more annoyed than usual— at the _most _inopportune moment. Damn Wilson. He snatched the remote and jabbed the play button. "Quit being a moron, Wilson."

Wilson grabbed it back and paused it again. "Quit being evasive. You brought it up, and now you get to deal with the consequences. Who is it?"

House thought for a moment and lunged, knocking the half-empty popcorn bowl to the floor and landing (more like sprawling, really) very awkwardly in Wilson's lap. Well, anyway, it was Wilson's fault for anticipating the move and holding the remote just out of his reach, House thought grumpily, and focused back on the task at hand.

He tried again for the remote, since Wilson had turned a funny shade of pink and was currently distracted by the hundred and eighty pounds of doctor on him.

Okay. In all fairness, that _was _House, but Wilson had ruined a perfectly good evening by getting hooked on the idea that House was in love, which, you know, he wasn't.

Much.

"House! God!"

House stretched his arm in the direction of the remote as far as it would go, one hand braced on Wilson's knee— and fell right back down when Wilson pushed on the inside of his elbow with his free hand, causing it to buckle. This left House no choice but to roll off the couch or risk having his face planted somewhere even less comfortable than where he already was—

"House?"

With a groan, House opened his eyes. "Nghh."

Wilson was still sitting on the couch, leaning over him. Concern tugged his lips into a frown. He was lying on the _floor_, House realized, and struggled to sit up. He settled, upon encountering the throbbing in his skull, for propping himself on his elbows.

"You idiot," the oncologist accused, "You crashed your head against the table and blacked out on me. All that just so you could change the subject? You really are an ass."

"Thanks, I'm fine," House muttered at him and clawed his way back to the couch, hauling himself up with a grunt. Damn, did his head hurt like hell. Finally he was able to lean back and let his eyes slide shut, hearing the voices on the television resume in the background and Wilson's resigned sigh. He allowed a tiny smile, opening one eye cautiously.

"Wilson?"

"What?" Wilson looked at him, but House fell silent. He wanted to apologize, say what he wanted to say without reservations, but right now he couldn't. He didn't know how, and it frustrated him to no end. And as light brown gazed into pale blue, Wilson seemed to know that, so House gave a mental shrug and allowed his friend to read what he had to say, projecting it the best way he could… silently.

Wilson smiled; so simple, so _goddamn _happy, it almost sucked House's breath right out of him. And Wilson spoke. "Well, look at that," he said easily, and offered it back, a mischievous sparkle in those deep pools of brown.

_Love you, too._

**xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**ii. meaning**

_Post— Half-Wit: OMG loved this ep. Chase was hysterical._

_Alright, I really, really need your feedback on this one, because the um... context is very new to me._

**xx**

It wasn't the usual reaction he displayed, but House absolutely had to laugh. Had to. The picture was priceless.

Tie loosened almost to the point of being undone, top two buttons of his dress shirt open, hair slightly mussed, chest heaving, lips swollen, eyes wide and uncomprehending, Doctor James Wilson did indeed present an amusing picture. That, and the incoherent stuttering was rather endearing. "I- you- uh- what- why- you- in- this- not-" Clearly frustrated at his newfound ability to _not _form complete sentences, Wilson shrank back- or rather, tried to, but couldn't because he already had his back flat against the elevator wall where House had had him pinned just moments before.

Wilson blinked three times fast and squared his shoulders resolutely. "You... why. Yes. God. Why... did you do... that... uh... exactly?" The jumble of words seemed to suck the remainder of his energy away, House observed wryly, and only grinned in response.

This flustered Wilson even more as he attemptedto smooth down his hair and fix his shirt and tie. "House... god. Damn it." His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. House continued to grin as he watched him. "Fuck," Wilson growled as a button popped off and skittered out of sight. It was clear. No wonder. He glanced up to see House staring at him. "What the hell was that for?" He bit out.

House smirked. Reached out to touch Wilson's jaw, probing the skin with long fingers. It was already turning red from House's stubble. Wilson shoved his hands away and focused on the tie, jerking it back around his neck with one pull.

"You made the first move," House finally said defensively, hitting the button that would resume the elevator with the end of his cane.

Wilson made a strangled sound. "Wh- What?"

"You asked me if I wanted to go see a movie."

The elevator dinged.

"So?"

House shrugged. "So, isn't that like, a date?"

"Are you serious?" Wilson choked out a laugh. "Did you totally miss the last part that I said about 'with a friend'? And then I pointed at me..."

"Yeah... got that. What's your point?"

"Well- you- just-" Wilson spluttered indignantly. "_Friends_ don't just... _corner_ other friends in elevators and..." He made a vague hand gesture, "Do... that." At that point, the elevator doors opened to reveal a very irritated-looking Cuddy, whose glare followed Wilson as he bolted out of the confined space and returned to House, who shrugged innocently.

"What did you do to him?"

"Oncologists." House lifted his shoulders. "So temperamental." He limped out of the elevator. "Hey Wilson!" He yelled down the hall. "We're still on for tonight, though, right?"

- - -

House grinned triumphantly when the knock came at his door that evening. "Be right there," he called out, and hobbled to the door, opening it without even looking through the peephole.

It was a good thing he'd left his cane by the piano, House's mind told him, because the second the door clicked shut, Wilson turned around and then House was slammed against the door and Wilson's mouth was slanted across his. House took all of two seconds to recover and kissed back until Wilson pulled away, breathing hard, and whispered,

"Ours was never a normal friendship anyway."

**xx**


	3. Chapter 3

**iii. april**

_LOL this was just a fun little thing I came up with while grumbling about how much I hate Winter and Spring._

**x****x**

God_damn_, but House hated spring. From the slush and the wet and the snow and the rain to the ridiculously cheery people who went on and on about the budding leaves and flowers and how hey, at least it wasn't cold all the time anymore... blah, blah, blah.

Wilson, of course, was one of those people.

"_Don't_. Even. Think about it." House growled the words at him, clipped and impatient, as Wilson caught his lower lip between his teeth, clamping down hard to keep the bubbling laughter at bay.

On any other day, House's anger would have melted away at the sight of those brown orbs sparkling with laughter and leaned in to capture that lip for himself. Instead he shifted uncomfortably as Wilson's gaze traveled from the top of his head, wet hair plastered against his forehead and neck, down over his body, also drenched, to his feet, where the occasional drip-drip-drip could be heard in the quiet office. And back up again, even more slowly, an appreciative glint in his eyes.

Christ. House could feel his body temperature rise a few degrees just from that look. He gripped his cane tightly as Wilson rose from behind the desk and approached him, reaching around one side to lock the door.

And shut the blinds.

"You must be frozen," the words were casual, but his tone screamed subtext.

"Wilson, you devil." House's lips curved into a sly grin. "You just want to get my clothes off."

Wilson smirked at him. "Guilty. What happened anyway?"

"Look out the window, idiot. It randomly started pouring on me. Snow, sleet, rain, whatever the hell it was, it got me all fucking wet." House was not amused, despite the fact that he wasn't quite so cold and shivery with Wilson looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive.

Wilson crept closer. "Could be worse," he said conversationally as nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons on the dress shirt House wore under his open leather jacket and pushed both articles of clothing over his shoulders. "You could've gotten splashed by a car. Then you'd be wet and full of mud." House was forced to shrug out of the shirt and jacket himself awkwardly, leaning his cane against the wall and revealing a plain black t-shirt. Goosebumps immediately prickled on his arms.

"Always the optimist," House murmured. He tried to complain, really, but then suddenly Wilson's hands were sliding south and- yeah...

**xx **


End file.
